


Never Did Believe in Miracles

by blainedarling



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-01 18:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14526792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blainedarling/pseuds/blainedarling
Summary: “I’ll come with you.” Harry says it so simply, so matter-of-fact, as though there wasn’t a single reason why he shouldn’t come with him.Zayn can think of about a hundred and one reasons why he shouldn’t. “Are you having a laugh? Harry, you’re not my boyfriend.”“So? I can pretend for a few days, especially if it helps get them off your back a bit. Besides, I’ve got nothing better to do.” Harry crosses his ankles and swigs from his glass. “When do we leave?”“Harry.” Zayn pushes up onto his elbows and stares at him. “What about Luca?”Harry shrugs. “He won’t care.” He wriggles his toes. “Or maybe we just won’t tell him.”Or, the one where Harry pretends to be Zayn's boyfriend to prove to his parents that he can hold down a serious relationship with a man. Only, Harry is actually Zayn's best friend's boyfriend.





	Never Did Believe in Miracles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueghosts/gifts).



> For the prompt: It's winter, and Zayn is back at his parents' house for break. The problem is, he told them he had a boyfriend--to get back at them, he thinks, for telling him he'd never be able to find anyone. The solution, and it's the only one he can really think of in a hurried fluster, is to pretend to be with his best friends' boyfriend, Harry, instead. And that's all fine, seeming a sufficient solution at first, but then the line between faking it and reality start to blur, and Zayn can't tell, but he thinks he's falling. And he doesn't know whether Harry is going to catch him. All he has to do is survive winter break.  
> (Or, where Zayn tries to prove to his parents, who disapprove of his declaration of homosexuality, that he can get and keep a boyfriend.)
> 
> Hope this is what you hoped for! <3 I took this prompt as a pinch-hitter and wrote the bulk of this over two days so I hope it's... Not completely ridiculous. ALSO, there's some details in the end notes for anyone who's interested re: the approach I took with the relationship between Zayn and his parents.

**Three years ago**

Zayn nearly knocks right into the garish string of red and green lights drooping low over the doorway as he heads out into the cool of the hallway. The headache-inducing Christmas remixes can still be heard playing on full blast from the kitchen but at least it’s a little muffled, drowned out by the chatter and laughter of a couple of dozen undergraduates crammed into a house meant for three. He takes a swig of his beer and shoulders his way past the couple flirting by the bathroom, the girl’s light-up reindeer headband nearly poking him in the eye as he goes.

He should be better at this by now, he thinks as he hops up to sit on the window seat near the staircase. Halfway through his second year of university and he’s still the guy at the party who sits in the corner and wonders when would be an acceptable time to go home.

Zayn huffs out a breath, longer strands of vibrant green hair falling into his eyes. His mum won’t be best pleased about _that_ either, he thinks, as he twirls a finger around a strand and gives it a tug. The consequence of a long, dull day spent in the library surrounded by his study notes, and the need to just do something different.

That, among other things he needs to tell her about when he goes home in a week’s time.

Zayn sits and nurses his warm beer and thinks, as he does every time, that he really should stop letting Luca drag him to these things.

It’s not that Luca is Zayn’s _only_ friend, exactly. Most of Luca’s friends are, by extension, Zayn’s friends. Or, at least, the ones that Zayn knows the names of. And then there’s the girl from his theory in practice class who he accidentally ended up studying with twice and whose name he really should know by now.

But it’s safe to say that Luca is Zayn’s best friend. Luca is outspoken where Zayn is reserved and if it hadn’t been for Luca’s absolute insistence that he buy him a pizza to apologise, he’d still just be that guy that passed out in Zayn’s room one time.

Someone clatters into the wall next to him and Zayn looks up with a start. Brown curls flopping into his eyes, the guy holds up one finger and points directly at him.

“Mate, did you know your hair’s green?”

Zayn blinks.

The stranger grins and hops up next to him. The seat is barely made for one person, let alone two, but the stranger doesn’t seem perturbed by where their thighs are pressed up tight side by side. He’s got a cracked plastic cup in one hand, clear liquid dribbling over his ring-clad fingers. The sky-blue shirt adorned with pineapples doesn’t really fit the party’s theme and Zayn says as much.

He looks crestfallen. “I lost my Christmas jumper back there somewhere,” he replies, gesturing forlornly to the kitchen. “I got too hot and Jen said it wasn’t appropriate to walk around with just Santa hat stickers on my nips.” He takes a swig from his cup and wipes a hand over his mouth. “Real shame, too, it was a great jumper.” He looks at Zayn expectantly.

Zayn nods and picks at the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail. “A shame, yeah.”

He sighs, his breath falling hot and sticky over Zayn’s mouth with how close they’re sat. Zayn’s not quite sober enough to deal with attractive boys practically sitting in his lap but he’s also definitely not drunk enough to be able to flirt.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my jumper said?” The stranger prompts.

Zayn flushes. “Right. What did your jumper say?”

“Tickle my baubles.” He cracks a wide grin and then glances down at himself and sighs. “As it is, gonna have to be pineapples for now.”

Zayn polishes off his beer and takes a breath. “Give it another hour or two and you can probably get away with those Santa hat stickers.”

The stranger looks positively thrilled. “I like you,” he declares and shoves a hand at him, long fingers accidentally stabbing Zayn in the ribs in the process. “I’m Harry.”

Zayn awkwardly manages to get his hand around Harry’s. “Zayn.”

“Zayn.” Harry turns the name over his tongue. “I like it. I like you,” he repeats.

Zayn tries not to turn an epic shade of red and fails miserably. It’s new to him still, is the thing. Not the flirting—he did plenty of that back in sixth form, even if it was a little pathetic at best. But the flirting with _guys_. That’s still a thing he’s figuring out.

But before he can get another word out to cover his tracks, Luca’s barrelling towards him, pink-cheeked like he always gets when he’s been drinking.

“Zayn, love of my life,” Luca sighs out, sweeping his arms out dramatically as he comes towards them. “Have you got a lighter on you?”

Zayn rolls his eyes and digs a hand into his pocket. He looks around at Harry but his attention’s already gone and it feels like a lead ball sinking into the pit of his stomach. Zayn gets it, he really does. Luca, all six feet of him, the product of a Spanish mother and an Italian father, born and raised in London with the rumbling East End accent to boot – it’s hard not to stare. He’s not just beautiful, he has the uncanny ability to make you feel as though you’ve known him for years in a single sweep of his impossibly long eyelashes.

Zayn probably would have fallen in love with him at first sight too, if it hadn’t been for the whole passing out in his room thing.

So, he’s used to this – used to the reaction that Luca gets when people meet him – and it’s never really bothered him all that much. But watching Harry – sweet, gorgeous, funny Harry who he’d almost gotten up the courage to _actually_ flirt with – disappear into Luca’s smile hurts just that little bit more than Zayn wants to admit.

“Who’s this, then?” Luca asks, not even looking at Zayn.

Zayn doesn’t bother to respond. He’s as good as invisible at this point. He sits, uncomfortably squeezed up against the wall and watches Harry’s cheek dimple.

“I might head home, actually,” Zayn says and pushes onto his feet.

That gets Luca’s attention. “Absolutely not. Come have a cig with me and you’ll feel better.” He shoots Harry a wink. “We’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“How about I fetch us some drinks and meet you back here?”

“You got yourself a deal.”

Zayn lets Luca push him through the crowd towards the back garden.

“You interested, then?” Luca asks, handing him his lighter back as they perch on the edge of a crumbling stone wall.

Zayn hesitates. Luca’s not a dick and he’s been pestering Zayn about finding a guy for ages—now that he’s finally figured out it’s a guy he wants to find.

“C’mon, Zed.” Luca props his cigarette between his lips and pushes his hair back from his face with both hands. “You still nervous about it?”

“A little,” Zayn admits because if there’s one thing he’s always been with Luca, it’s honest, and that’s not about to change now. “But he seems sweet. Harry, I mean. Like…” Zayn trails off and wets his lips. “Like he’d be okay with me being nervous.”

Luca grins and bumps their shoulders together. “Look at you, you proper fancy this bloke, don’t you?”

Zayn shoves him at him. “‘Course not, I just met the guy.”

“So? Sometimes you just know. You just feel it.” Luca’s gaze falls back to the house, through the kitchen window.

Harry catches them staring and sticks his tongue out. He holds up three cups and nods into the house.

Three cups. Zayn smiles. He looks back at Luca. “Do… Do you?”

Luca turns. “Do I what?”

“Feel it.” Zayn takes a deep drag of his cigarette and curls the smoke around his tongue as he exhales. “Do you fancy him?”

“He’s fit,” Luca replies. “And I’ve heard a little about him,” he admits. “He lives with Jen who’s friends with Tom from my stats class. He sounds pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” Zayn breaths. “Well, you should go for it, then,” he says with as much conviction as he can.

Luca looks at him, searching his expression. “Yeah? You sure?”

“‘Course, mate.” Zayn wants to tear out his own tongue if it’ll stop him talking. He’s definitely not sure but he is sure he doesn’t want to compete with Luca. “More your type, anyway.”

Luca quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, so, you have a _type_ now, do you?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn snorts, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall. “Have fun, yeah? I won’t wait up.”

“Zayn,” Luca whines, catching his wrist. “Don’t leave. Just stay a bit longer, please? We can get chips on the way home. On me.” He bats his eyelashes.

Zayn huffs out a sigh and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shivering in the cool December air. “Extra cheese?”

“Of course.” Luca grins.

Zayn sighs. “Alright.” He worries at his lower lip with his teeth. “I think I saw that girl from my theory class inside, anyway. I should probably go say hi.”

“Look at you go.” Luca finishes up his cigarette and hops off the wall. “Made a new friend and talking to someone from your class, all in one night. Who are you and what have you done with my best mate?”

Zayn flips him a finger and heads back into the house after him. Harry is right where they’d left him, three cups clutched between his hands. Zayn ignores the third cup meant for him and ducks left when Luca moves to rejoin him, into the thick of the living room. There’s a tray of shots on the table and he grabs one before he can second-guess himself and throws it back.

His mistake was in taking the sofa. He’s having a not-so-awful time talking to the girl from his class, who might be called Tina or maybe Fiona, except that it’s loud and he’s not entirely sure, and the music has improved significantly now that the hosts have given up on the themed playlist. But the sofa happens to be at a perfect forty-five degree angle to the doorway so, when he looks up, he gets an eyeful of Luca and Harry pressed together under the mistletoe. A few people holler nearby and Zayn can see the smile Harry pushes into the kiss, his rings buried deep in Luca’s curls.

“That’s your flatmate, isn’t it?” Tina or maybe Fiona asks, nodding towards the doorway. “He’s so fit.”

Zayn smiles tightly and reaches for another shot.

 

* * *

 

  
**Present day**

Zayn nudges the photo tacked to the fridge with his finger where it’s fallen squint. Taken the night they’d met Harry, the three of them bundled up in their coats by the doorway as they headed home. Luca’s arm around Harry’s shoulders, Harry’s cheeks flushed from the winter air. Zayn, leaning against the doorframe with his eyes half-closed.

“You were so drunk that night.” Harry laughs.

Zayn jumps. “ _Jesus_ , how many times?” He protests and shoves at him. “I’m going to get Luca to take that spare key off you if you keep creeping up on me.” He shakes his head. Zayn opens the fridge and grabs a pizza from the top shelf. “He’s not back yet, by the way.”

“Thanks, genius, I’d figured that much out for myself,” Harry responds, dumping a bag of groceries onto the counter and hopping up alongside. He takes his phone out and frowns at the screen before sighing. “His phone must have died again.”

Zayn turns and flips the oven temperature up. He doesn’t mention that Luca had texted him approximately three minutes earlier saying he was at the pub. Harry is Zayn’s friend because he’s his best friend’s boyfriend and has been for years—but Luca is Zayn’s best friend and Zayn does his absolute best not to get stuck in the middle of the two of them.

He looks around at Harry, still so much the same boy they’d met those years ago, but also so different. But, then, Zayn’s changed, too. He’s confident in a way he wasn’t, sure of himself in a way he couldn’t even have imagined being. And, as far as Harry goes, anything that might have existed between them started and ended that winter’s night at university.

Harry stuffs his phone into his pocket. “I thought you’d be with Theo tonight.”

Zayn winces.

 _“Again?”_ Harry huffs out a laugh. “God, you’re a real heartbreaker, Zayn. Love ‘em and leave ‘em.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. He’s heard this before—from Harry, from Luca. From his parents, too, if in slightly different terms. “He ended it, actually.”

“Yeah, and you seem really torn up about it,” Harry deadpans.

Zayn’s dated, sort of. A couple of months here, a few weeks there, and then things tend to fizzle out into nothing and suddenly the fact that they haven’t called in a week doesn’t bother him much. It’s not a commitment thing, really – more of a _why waste time with on something that’s going nowhere_ kind of thing.

Zayn says as much, not for the first time.

Harry lets out a suffered sigh. “It takes time to get to that stage, though. Falling in love with someone doesn’t happen straight away.”

“First of all,” Zayn says, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He’s going to need it if this is where the conversation is going. “No one said anything about falling in love–”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

Zayn ignores him. “And you knew, didn’t you? That’s what Luca always says, about that night.”

Harry falls uncharacteristically silent. He scratches at a mark on his jeans and shrugs. “I guess so. But everyone’s different.”

“Exactly.” Zayn sets his beer down and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m fine.”

Harry’s distracted, though. He fiddles with his phone, his chin tucked down to his chest, curls falling into his eyes.

Zayn swallows. “Still nothing?” He says, trying to keep the discomfort off his face.

Harry hums. “He probably just forgot.” He looks up, pushing hair back from his face and smiling tightly. “It’s no big deal. It was just dinner.”

Zayn really doesn’t want to ask, really doesn’t want to get any more involved in whatever’s going on between Harry and Luca than he already is. He doesn’t want to ask but he probably should. “You okay?” It’s a pathetic attempt at best and Zayn casts his gaze back down to the floor.

“‘Course.” He hops off the counter and starts stacking vegetables onto the counter. “Get that thing out of the oven. I’ll cook for us, instead.”

“Uh.” Zayn wonders if there’s a polite way to tell him to go cook at home. “You really don’t have to do that, Harry.”

“I’m here now,” he replies breezily although his shoulders are tensed up nearly to his ears. “I’d like to be here when he comes home.”

_If he comes home._

Harry glances at Zayn over his shoulder. “I mean, as long as that’s okay. I don’t want to get in your way.”

Zayn tends to forget that Harry’s a little younger than them, the year pretty inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. But he looks young now, and sad, too. Zayn’s not in the habit of being an arsehole for the sake of it and he doesn’t plan on starting now.

“Of course it’s okay.” Zayn switches off the oven. “Can I help?”

Harry’s mouth quirks up at the corner. He turns and digs around in the bag and pulls out a bottle of red wine. “Open this.”

 

#

 

There’s a stack of dirty dishes in the sink that Zayn should probably do something about but the thought of moving doesn’t really appeal to him. He sighs and sinks further back into the sofa, wriggling his toes under a cushion. “When did you get to be such a good cook?” Zayn asks with a small yawn. He rests his hands over his stomach.

“Took a class in October,” Harry replies, toying with his wine glass where he’s sprawled across the opposite sofa, one leg dangling over the side. “I was bored.”

Zayn hums and tilts his head round to look at him. “How’s the job hunt going?”

Harry pulls a face and sighs. “I know it’s only been six months but…”

“But six months is six months.” Zayn nods. He remembers it well, and he doesn’t miss it. The months following graduation spent trying to even get into an interview room, let alone the job. “I know you must be sick of hearing it but something will come up. I promise. Sometimes in the way you’d least expect.”

God knows, Zayn never expected to end up hopping from his English Literature degree to making use of the few Psychology courses on the side he’d picked up and becoming a mental health support officer.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry replies quietly. “But thank you. How’s it all going with your job?”

Zayn hums. “Busy.”

Harry hums in acknowledgement. “Difficult time of the year, isn’t it? The winter months.”

“Exactly.” Zayn lets out a breath. “But I love it. It feels like I can actually make a difference. Actually be there for someone when they need it. I like being able to put something positive out into the world.” He tips his head back to stare up at the ceiling. The room’s quiet save for their breathing and the distant dripping of the leaky tap in the bathroom.

“Luca said you’re going home next week.”

Zayn twists a ring around his finger. “Yeah.”

“You know Christmas is the week _after_ , right?” Harry teases.

“No shit.” Zayn shrugs. “I’m on call over the Christmas period.” It’s not a complete lie. He is on call, only he’d volunteered to be. He tells himself he’s paying his dues – no one wants to be on call over Christmas and he’s still the new kid. But, really, visiting his parents can be tense and uncomfortable enough without throwing a stressful major holiday into the mix.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Harry purses his lips. “So, what, you’re going to spend Christmas alone? Here?”

“Depends.”

“On what?” Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Planning on some rebound sex with Theo?”

Zayn makes a noise. “Definitely not. Depends on whether I get called out or not.”

“That’s not really what I meant.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Harry, I really don’t mind. I’m more irritated about having to go visit them at all.” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

Harry pushes up onto his elbows and looks at him across the room. “You don’t get along?”

Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that we don’t along. We’re actually quite close, in a lot of ways. They’re just a bit– We don’t quite–” He glances at the table but his wine glass and the bottle are both long since empty. “There’s some things we don’t see eye-to-eye on, let’s say.”

Harry frowns at him. The half-empty glass looks dangerously close to falling out of his hand.

“Please don’t drop that,” Zayn comments. “The landlord already hates us for the hole in the bathroom.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Harry says but he puts his glass onto the table out of harm’s way. “Do they know you’re gay?”

Zayn closes his eyes. “Yeah, of course they know.”

“But?”

“They’re just a bit old-fashioned, I guess.”

Harry scoffs. “Bullshit.”

_“Harry.”_

“Old-fashioned is just another word for bigoted.”

“They’re still my parents.”

Harry mumbles an apology but he doesn’t really sound like he means it.

“It’s fine, like…” Zayn sighs and sits up, tucking one leg underneath himself. “Mostly we just don’t talk about it.

“Zayn.” Harry’s tone is soft now, sympathetic.

Zayn’s not sure if that’s worse or better.

“They don’t really take it seriously, I think.” Zayn scratches at his jaw and wonders why he’s still talking. Red wine and the soft warmth of Harry’s presence in the room making him loose-lipped and open in a way he rarely is with anyone. “Think they’d probably die of shock if I actually ever brought a boyfriend home – that I actually found a proper boyfriend, I mean.”

His phone vibrates against his leg, breaking the pensive quiet between them. He drags it out and snorts. “Her ears must have been burning,” he mutters as he answers the call, tucking his phone next to his ear.

 _Your mum?_ Harry mouths from across the room and Zayn nods.

“Hiya, Mum. You alright?”

_“Yes, sunshine, just checking in. We’re looking forward to seeing you.”_

“Yeah, you too,” Zayn murmurs.

She’s silent a moment. _“What’s wrong?”_

Zayn smiles and shakes his head. She knows him too well. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, s’all.” He catches Harry’s eye.

Harry raises his eyebrows and turns his attention back to his wine, not even making an effort to act as though he isn’t eavesdropping.

_“I hope you’re not too lonely. London’s such a big city. I worry about you there all by yourself.”_

Zayn frowns. “I’m not by myself.”

_“Well, yes, but, you said it yourself, you and Luca barely catch each other these days with how busy you both are with work.”_

Zayn takes a breath.

_“I’d just be happier if I knew you had someone special, that’s all, sweetheart. It’s such a shame.”_

“Actually, I do have someone special,” Zayn bluffs, fuelled by wine or by Harry’s intense gaze, he doesn’t know. For whatever reason, he can’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “It’s getting pretty serious. So, like, you can stop worrying.”

 _“…Oh? This is the first I’m hearing of it.”_ Her laugh is terse. _“Well, what’s their name?”_

 _“His_ name is… Is…” Zayn flounders, his mouth suddenly dry. “His name’s Harry.”

Harry’s gaze doesn’t leave Zayn’s. He looks more bemused than irritated. Zayn takes that as a good sign and lets out a small sigh of relief.

 _“Well, why don’t you bring him along with you, then? If it’s so serious.”_ Her tone is cool and clipped, so different from the warmth she’d initially greeted him with.

“Why don’t I— Yeah. Yeah, I think I will. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

Harry’s wine glass very nearly does go tumbling then.

Zayn’s hands are shaking as he ends the call and drops his phone into his lap. “What the fuck have I done?” He mutters and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Fuck, Harry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’ll just tell her— I’ll tell her something, you were busy, or the trains were all booked or—”

 _“Zayn.”_ Harry’s laughing now, dimples arched into his cheeks. “Breathe, mate.”

Zayn sinks back into the sofa and groans. “What do I do now?” He mumbles miserably. “She’ll be waiting on the bloody doorstep ready with an _I told you so_ when I turn up by myself.”

“I’ll come with you.” Harry says it so simply, so matter-of-fact, as though there wasn’t a single reason why he shouldn’t come with him.

Zayn can think of about a hundred and one reasons why he shouldn’t. “Are you having a laugh? Harry, you’re not my boyfriend.”

“So? I can pretend for a few days, especially if it helps get them off your back a bit. Besides, I’ve got nothing better to do.” Harry crosses his ankles and swigs from his glass. “When do we leave?”

“Harry.” Zayn pushes up onto his elbows and stares at him. “What about Luca?”

Harry shrugs. “He won’t care.” He wriggles his toes. “Or maybe we just won’t tell him.”

 

###

 

“This is a terrible idea,” Zayn says for the sixth time as they tramp through the miserable slush gathered in Kings Cross Square. He hitches his bag up his shoulder. “You should just go home. I’ll make up an excuse.”

“Shut up,” Harry says cheerfully, looping an arm through his and dragging him towards the entrance. “You’ve promised me a thrilling five days in Bradford, Malik.”

“I promised you nothing!”

Harry huffs out a sigh. “I’m getting into character,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth. “Is this our first getaway together?” He purses his lips. “Not very romantic. How about, we spent a weekend in a cottage in Wales in September – that sounds pretty good.” He nods.

“Wait, Wales, what?” Zayn blinks.

Harry sighs. “We can work on this on the train. We’ve got to have our backstory, Zayn. Where we met, mutual interests, that kind of thing.” He stops them under the departure boards with a jerk and looks at him intently. “Was it love at first sight or did we only realise a few weeks later when our eyes met over a late-night dinner?”

Zayn fumbles around a response, not even sure what the question was. Harry’s hair is stuck out at odd angles from under his beanie and the cold has turned the tip of his nose pink.

“Zayn?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Can we talk about this later?” He pleads.

“You’re panicking,” Harry comments. “How do we stop that? If you were actually my boyfriend, I’d probably grab you and kiss you but that might be counterproductive right now.”

“No, no! Do not kiss me,” Zayn replies quickly, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He tugs his arm free of Harry’s and takes a deep breath. He tells himself it’s seeing his parents that’s got him all in a muddle but ever since Harry turned up on his doorstep that morning, bag in one hand, Oyster card in the other, he’s felt like he’s on a rollercoaster hurtling towards the ground. “Let’s just get some food for the train, yeah?”

“Food!” Harry brightens. “Absolutely. Nothing a burrito can’t fix.”

The burrito helps but the nerves pinch at his muscles once they’re on the train, his heart beating out of time. He doesn’t know if he can pull this off. Harry, he doesn’t have to worry about – he’s already compiled a list on his phone of all of Zayn’s die-hard likes and dislikes, his allergies, what makes him feel better on a bad day.

“The boyfriend checklist,” Harry explains as he adds _typically takes at least 10 minutes to really wake up_ to the bottom of his list. “Stuff I would know, if we’d been dating for six months.”

Six months is what they’ve agreed on – long enough to seem serious, but short enough that when they conveniently break up in a month’s time, it won’t be earth-shattering. They met at university – because the more truths they throw in, the more believable their story will be – but only started dating when they bumped into each other again one summer’s night in a crowded bar on the Southbank.

More than that, though, Zayn’s worried that maybe he can pull this off, a little too well. He and Harry aren’t exactly strangers, even if he’s not sure he’d refer to them as friends. The night this all started, a few days ago over too much red wine in the quiet of Zayn and Luca’s flat, was probably the first time they’d spent time together, just the two of them, since the first night they met.

Zayn sits opposite Harry, a grey cloud hanging over the English countryside that whistles past the window, and watches him. If he feels guilty, he doesn’t show it. Zayn doesn’t. He thinks he probably should.

Harry lifts his gaze from his phone, placing it face down on the table. He catches Zayn’s gaze and cocks his head. “What are you thinking about?”

“Luca,” he replies honestly without hesitation. “What did you tell him?”

Harry shrugs. “That I was going away for a few days.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did he say?”

Harry’s mouth is set into a firm line. “He didn’t say anything. He read my message but didn’t respond.”

Zayn swallows. “Oh.”

Harry looks out of the window, a small frown puckering at his eyebrows. “Can you do me a favour?”

“Of course.” Zayn’s hardly in a position to say no, given what Harry’s doing for him.

Harry looks back at him and there’s a sadness in his eyes that Zayn can’t read. “Let’s not talk about Luca for the next few days, okay?”

Zayn murmurs his assent even if the thought of Luca might be the only thing to remind him of the reality of the situation for the duration of their trip.

Harry hums and then digs around his bag. “Right. I think we’ve got the basics down – and you need a distraction.” He deposits a Travel Scrabble set on the table and beams. “And if you think I’m going to go easy on you, think again.” He tips the pieces out over the table and Zayn laughs, in spite of himself.

“I’d expect nothing less than your best, Styles.”

 

###

 

Zayn’s been moved out for over four years but stepping into his parents’ house always has the unique ability to make him feel seventeen years old again. Past the chipped green paint of the front door and the scrubbed, dirty material of the doormat, the warmth and smell of his childhood home envelops him. The key pressed against his palm just as familiar, reminiscent of nights coming in drunk and high when he was in sixth form, clinging to the key in one hand and the doorframe in the other and trying his absolute best not to pass out into his mum’s prized cheese plant.

“Ready?” Zayn murmurs, turning back to glance at Harry as he opens the inner door.

Harry looks nervous for the first time in all of this but he nods, his teeth creating small indentations in his lower lip. “Ready.” He wets his lips. “Should I hold your hand?”

“Uh.” Zayn doesn’t have time to process the request, though, his mum barreling towards him from inside the house and wrapping him into a tight hug. He chuckles, dropping his back to the floor and squeezing her tight. “Hi, Mum.”

She’s smiling as she pulls back, cupping his face in her hands and looking him over. “Sweetheart, you look so tired. Aren’t you sleeping?”

He sighs and bats her off. “I’m fine, Mum. Work’s been busy, is all. It’s a rough time of year.”

She frowns. “You have to look after yourself, as well.”

“You could let the boy into the house before you start fussing,” his dad comments from the hallway, shaking his head fondly as he watches the scene unfold.

Zayn casts him a grateful smile. “I am, Mum.” He swallows and glances back at Harry, reaching for his hand now. “And so’s Harry.”

His mum’s gaze finally shifts to Harry, as if only just acknowledging his presence at all. Her posture changes almost instantly, her expression stiff as she nods. “It’s so nice for Zayn to bring a friend home with him for once.”

Zayn grits his teeth. “Boyfriend, Mum. He’s my _boyfriend_.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“Lovely to meet you, Mrs Malik,” Harry pipes up. “And you, Mr Malik.”

His parents say nothing and, for the first time Zayn is glad Harry isn’t really his boyfriend. It’s painful enough putting him through this, let alone someone he loved.

“You going to let us in or what?” Zayn jokes, any attempt to break the uncomfortable silence that’s fallen over them.

His mum clears her throat and squeezes his arm. “Of course, love. Your room’s all made up for you, and I’ve put Harry in the spare room down the hall.”

Zayn doesn’t even think about it, just nods and grabs his bag. Harry pokes a sharp finger in the middle of his back and Zayn starts. He casts him a confused glance over his shoulder and shakes his head, taking the stairs two at a time up to his old room.

“Zayn,” Harry hisses when they’re out of earshot. “You didn’t even argue! I’m supposed to be your boyfriend and they’ve put me in the spare bedroom?”

Zayn sighs and kicks open his door. He drops his bag and sinks down onto his bed. “Can we pick our battles, please, Harry? You saw how they acted.”

Harry bites his lip and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He looks around the room, the corner of his mouth quirking at the corner. “Hang on, so they didn’t realise you were gay?”

Zayn looks up at his walls, unchanged from his teenager years spent cramped up in this bedroom, and his cheeks colour. “Shut up. Liking Batman isn’t gay.”

“No, but the shirtless posters of Christian Bale are a bit.” Harry sniggers.

Zayn picks up a pillow from his bed and throws it at him.

Harry catches it and quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, so _that’s_ how it’s going to be?” He drops his bag and takes a running leap towards Zayn.

Zayn barely has time let out an indignant squawk before he has his arms full of Harry, tackling him back onto the bed. Harry’s knees dig in either side of his hips, the pillow discarded as his hands pin Zayn’s wrists to either side of his head. He’s a little out of breath, his cheeks pink and a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Harry,” Zayn huffs, blowing Harry’s hair out of his face. “What’s your plan now, then?”

“You might want to close your door if you’re going to do that or Harry’s going to be sleeping in the shed.”

Zayn pushes Harry off him and grins as he takes the few steps towards the door and wraps his younger sister into a hug. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to get an eyeful, unfortunately,” Safaa replies. She grins and kisses Zayn’s cheek then looks at Harry. “Did you know there’s a hole in the bum of your jeans? Nice pink boxers, by the way.” She winks and slips out of the room with a light laugh.

“Do I?” Harry cranes his head around and pats at the seat of his jeans. “Well, shit. Hope your mum didn’t catch that.”

Zayn snorts and rests his head against the doorframe, closing his eyes.

“So, your sister’s cool with it, then?”

Zayn hums. “Yeah, all three of them are. But–”

“Let me guess, you don’t talk about it when your parents are around?”

Zayn sighs and tips his head around to look at him. “You make it sound easy, Harry, but it’s not. Not in this house, anyway.”

Harry flops back onto the bed and hugs the pillow to his chest. “I guess I’m just not used to it. And I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that you are.”

Zayn shakes his head and walks over to him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t take it personally – the way they’re acting, it has nothing to do with you as a person.”

“No, I know,” Harry replies quietly. “It’s not how they talk to me that I’m upset about, Zayn.”

Zayn closes his eyes. “Go on. I know you want to ask.”

Harry is quiet for a long moment. “I don’t understand how you can be so close with them and not have them accept such a fundamental part of you.”

“Is it fundamental, though?” Zayn asks, lifting his head. “Really? I’m still the same person I always was. And who I date isn’t really anyone else’s business except mine and my partner’s.”

“What about the future? What about a wedding or a house or kids?” Harry presses, turning to face him. “Do you really want your parents coming to visit their grandchildren and asking if your _friend_ – their grandchildren’s other father – is around?”

Zayn lets out a breath through gritted teeth. “I’m just trying to figure this out one step at a time. This is the first time I’ve even brought anyone home. Can I just see if I can get that to work before we start talking about children?”

Harry seems a little taken aback by his tone. “Why don’t I give you a moment, yeah? I’ll go unpack.” He squeezes Zayn’s shoulder and gets up, the bed dipping as he goes. He pauses in the doorway, bag in one hand. “Hey, Zed?”

Zayn rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, Harry?”

“Not bad for our first couple’s fight, huh?” He grins and takes off, whistling to himself as he goes.

Zayn snorts. Harry’s ability to leave any situation with his optimism unfazed could well be the thing that gets them through the trip. He flops back onto the bed. Christian Bale smoulders down at him from the sloped ceiling above his bed. “Oh, fuck off,” he mumbles, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.

 

#

 

It’s dark outside when he wakes, soft flakes of snow falling and sticking to the window ledge. Zayn shivers and tugs an old hoodie on over his sweater. It’s years old and smells like a mix of dust and detergent and when he digs his hand into the pocket, he comes out with a cinema ticket from 2011. He balls it up and tosses it in the direction of the bin, sloping off towards the stairs. He glances down the hall but the light in the spare room is off and voices come from downstairs.

He finds Harry sat at the dining room table with his mum, mugs of tea between their hands and a half-empty plate of biscuits on the table.

“There he is, sleepyhead,” Harry teases fondly, one leg tucked up the under. “I swear, this one could sleep all day if I let him.”

“Good to know some things don’t change,” Trisha comments, standing up and crossing the room to kiss Zayn’s cheek. “Can’t believe this still fits you,” she laughs, tugging at his hoodie. “Cup of tea, love?”

Zayn hums in response, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. He slumps down into a chair and tucks his knees up to his chest. “What are you two up to, then?” He eyes the photos scattered over the dining room table. He picks one up at random and balks. “Oh, God. Mum, did you have to?” His cheeks turn a furious colour of red as he eyes the photo of himself at thirteen, acne-riddled and floppy haired, posing with the most ridiculous pair of sunglasses he’s ever seen next to his childhood best friend.

“Couldn’t resist,” Trisha coos from the kitchen. “We started with the baby photos, don’t worry!”

Zayn groans and tosses the photo into the pile.

Harry laughs, plucking a Jammy Dodger from the plate and starting to take it apart.

“That’s disgusting,” Zayn comments, scrunching up his nose as he grabs one and shoves it into his mouth whole. He glances back towards the kitchen and then to Harry. “How’s it going?” He murmurs, tapping his fingertips against a photo.

“Really well, actually,” Harry replies quietly, licking jam from the biscuit. It’s a little obscene and Zayn shakes his head. “I mean, she’s still treating me like your best friend from uni rather than your boyfriend, but.” He shrugs. “It’s a start, right?”

Zayn nods. “Better than I expected, if I’m honest.”

Harry chomps down his biscuit. “She’s really lovely, Zayn. They both are.”

“Dad’s about?”

Harry nods. “He sat with us a while. He’s building a fire.”

From the living room, comes a crackle and then a litany of curse words.

“Ah,” Zayn replies.

“I heard that!” Safaa yells from upstairs.

Zayn tucks his smile into the collar of his hoodie as Trisha sets down a mug of tea in front of him. He could get used to this, the quiet ease with which Harry’s slotted himself into their family dynamic. Confident Harry who can find his place even when someone tries to tell him he doesn’t have one. Even when Zayn doesn’t have the courage to make him one.

“So, where were we? Oh! Halloween, aged fourteen.” Trisha picks up a photo.

Zayn starts and dives forward, nearly knocking over his tea in the process. “No, no, absolutely not,” he pleads, trying to snatch the photo from her hand. No one – and he means, _no one_ – needs to see his gawky fourteen year old self in head-to-toe Spandex.

Harry plucks the photo from above his head, a wide grin spreading over his face as he looks as it. “Batman, huh? Why am I not surprised?”

“Bless him,” Trisha comments, eyeing Zayn fondly as she rests her chin in her palm. “He hadn’t really grown into his limbs yet.”

 _“Mum,”_ Zayn whines and buries his face into his hands.

Harry laughs and reaches over to squeeze Zayn’s knee. “Fourteen year old me would have been into it,” he assures him.

Trisha clears her throat and stands up abruptly. “I should start on dinner. Why don’t you go and see if your father needs some help, Zayn.”

Zayn’s smile slips a little, Harry’s hand heavy against his knee. “Yeah. Sure.” He catches Harry’s eye and gives a sad shrug. _What can you do?_

Harry’s mouth turns down a little at the corner. He touches his thumb to Zayn’s chin and then seems to catch himself. “You go. I’ll give your mum a hand, if she’ll let me.”

Zayn stands and picks up his tea. He pauses at the doorway and looks back. Harry’s rolling up his sleeves and flashing Trisha his most charming smile. She laughs and pats his arm, passing him a chopping board and a pile of vegetables. As though the moment before never happened, pushed to the back of her mind to be locked away and forgotten about.

_We don’t talk about it._

Zayn turns and heads into the living room. The fire’s going now, casting a hazy warmth over the room. “Good work,” Zayn comments, curling up into the armchair nearest the fire.

“Don’t speak too soon,” Yaser huffs, his gaze fixed on the fire, armed with pieces of wood in both hands.

When Zayn was young, Yaser would let him blow the bellows on the fire. It probably hindered more than helped but Zayn’s chest would puff with pride, watching as the sparks crackled and shot up high in to the chimney.

“He seems nice,” Yaser says quietly, still not looking at him. “Your Harry.”

It’s not quite boyfriend but it’s a little better than friend. “He is, Dad. He’s great.”

Yaser nods. “So, it’s serious, then?”

“I mean, it’s been six months so–”

“No, no. I mean, this…” Yaser puts down the wood and sighs, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He wouldn’t dare get away with that if Trisha was watching. “This male thing.”

“This male thing,” Zayn echoes flatly. “Yes, Dad. I’m serious about being gay.”

“I see.” Yaser stands and puts the fire guard up. “Well, I suppose we’ll see if it lasts.”

Zayn wants so badly to scream at him, to shout, to make him see that it’s exactly the same as it was with Trisha and Yaser. Except for how it’s not, at all. Because Harry won’t be back. Not next Christmas, or in years to come. Because Harry’s not even really his at all. He deflates, sinking back into the armchair and cradling the mug tight between his hands.

He wanted to prove something by coming here with Harry. To show that he could find someone, someone serious, something real. But he isn’t proving anything, really, except that he can lie to his family better than even he thought he could. And that’s not something he ever wanted to be able to do.

Dinner is a loud affair. Harry and Trisha talk non-stop and Safaa laughs at every one of Harry’s jokes and seems to genuinely mean it. Zayn, for his part, is quiet. He plays with his food more than eats it, even though he’s been craving his mum’s cooking for months. Harry seems more at home around that table than Zayn does and when he slopes off to bed early, no one pays him much attention.

 

###

 

Zayn wakes to cold air rushing over his bare legs and a jostling at his side. He grumbles under his breath and shoves his face further into the pillow, shoving at the weight next to him.

“Stop pushing or I’ll fall out,” Harry whispers, wriggling closer to him.

“What are you doing?” Zayn protests, not even trying to keep the whine out of his voice as Harry tucks his cold feet around Zayn’s. He reluctantly opens his eyes. “You’re freezing.”

“Warm me up, then.” Harry waggles his eyebrows and laughs, curling into Zayn’s chest. “Got to make it believable.”

“What are you babbling about? Get out of my bed,” Zayn mutters but his eyes have already closed again. Harry’s arm is heavy around his waist and his breath tickles Zayn’s nose but it’s not unpleasant. It’s been a while since Zayn’s had a bit of a morning cuddle and he’s always at his most pliant at that time of the day.

“If I was really your boyfriend and your mum made me sleep in another room, you don’t think I would sneak in here overnight to cuddle up with you?”

Zayn grunts. “Great plan, genius, but my mum’s not here to see it, is she?”

“S’why I left my door open. Where else would I be?” Harry pushes his nose against Zayn’s. “Maybe we should talk a bit louder though, just in case.” He hums. “Would a few little moans be too much?”

 _“Yes,”_ Zayn says quickly. “Definitely too much.”

Harry lets out a soft groan from the back of his throat, breathy and low.

“Harry.”

Harry does it again, louder this time and then sighs out Zayn’s name, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“Harry, cut it out, right now.” Zayn’s hot under the blankets and his dick isn’t entirely uninterested in the noises Harry’s making. He shifts, arranging himself under the covers and trying to tilt his hips away from Harry.

Harry goes again and Zayn smacks a hand over his mouth. Harry starts to laugh, his breath hot against Zayn’s palm.

“Stop, or I will throw you out of this bed myself.”

Harry licks a stripe up Zayn’s palm and Zayn pulls away in disgust. _“Oh,_ that could be good. So in the throes of passion that we rolled out of bed.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and wipes his hand off on the duvet. “You’re awful.”

There’s a loud and pointed knock on the door before Trisha walks in, uninvited. She doesn’t look particularly surprised to find Harry in Zayn’s bed, but she doesn’t look happy about it, either.

“Oh, good morning,” Harry says breezily. His cheeks are a little flushed and with the blankets tugged up to their chins, they manage to look as though they’ve been in caught in the act without even meaning to be.

“Was there something wrong with the bed in the spare room, Harry?” Trisha asks coolly.

“Not at all, it’s very comfortable. Only, I don’t really sleep very well without Zayn beside me anymore.” Harry smiles a saccharine sweet smile and tips his head closer to Zayn’s.

Zayn would laugh if it weren’t for the fact that Harry’s wrapped his leg tighter around Zayn’s, arching their hips closer together. He’s a little preoccupied trying to stop that situation before it starts to focus much on how much Harry is enjoying his victory over Trisha.

“That’s very sweet but I’d prefer if you stayed in your own bed the rest of the week. Zayn’s bed is a little small, really, for the both of you.” Trisha straightens the lamp on the bedside table and clears her throat. “There’s breakfast downstairs when you’re both decent.”

Zayn flushes furiously. The door closes behind her and he lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he’d been holding. “God, that was embarrassing.”

Harry laughs. “Why? It was perfect!”

Zayn squirms, trying to get out from under Harry’s leg.

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Not the cuddling type?”

“Something like that,” Zayn lies.

Harry sighs. “Shame. That’s a total deal-breaker for me.” He slips out of bed and stretches his arms above his head. “I’m going to shower. See you downstairs?”

Zayn nods. “Yeah, I’ll– I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s mouth tilts into a smirk and he flicks his gaze down the length of Zayn’s body, as if he can tell, even with the blankets, that Zayn’s half-hard in his boxers. “‘kay. Enjoy.”

Zayn shoves a muffled grown into his pillow and lets out a shaky breath. He’d expected his parents’ attitude, the uncomfortable silences, maybe even Harry getting angry or upset by it. But this? This he hadn’t prepared for. It’s possible he only has himself to blame for that.

 

###

 

The snow has started to settle, the world outside the window bright where the winter sun bounces off the ground and the rooftops.

“Looks so festive,” Harry comments, tucked up against the window with a cup of coffee between his hands. His hair is still damp from the shower and Zayn wants nothing more than to card his fingers through it and pick up the scent of his shampoo.

And he could. Trisha is bustling around the kitchen and Yaser’s just stamping in through the back door with more firewood from the shed. Adrenalin pumping through his veins, he walks over to Harry with a single-minded determination and reaches up to twist his finger around a curl.

Harry starts and coffee sloshes over the side of his mug.

“Sorry,” Zayn whispers, whipping his hand back. His cheeks burn. “I was just–”

“No, it’s good,” Harry murmurs. He leans down and kisses Zayn’s cheek. “You just surprised me, that’s all.” The tip of his nose drags over Zayn’s jaw. “They’re still watching.”

“Right,” Zayn breathes, his throat tight. His eyes fall shut, one hand resting on Harry’s arm. He smells clean and fresh and, if things were different, he would press Harry into the wall and map out the contours of his lips with his own.

If things were different. If his parents weren’t watching. If Harry wasn’t his best friend’s boyfriend.

Zayn draws back sharply, guilt hitting him in waves.

_What the fuck am I doing?_

His parents very pointedly face away from the two of them when he turns around, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee, and maybe that’s for the best.

Zayn needs to get out of this house. Away from Harry, just for a little while. Just until he gets his head back into reality. Maybe it’s the setting, being tucked up in his childhood home with him, his parents hovering on the outskirts. Or maybe it’s all just fantasy and nothing to do with Harry at all. Just the thought of how things could be, if he found someone he cared enough about to make it last longer than the two, three months he’s had in the past.

But maybe that’s naive. He sinks down into one of the dining room chairs and runs a hand through his hair. The flutter in his stomach, the dryness in his mouth, the flip in his chest, every time Harry catches his eye across the room and smiles that sweet smile – the last time he felt this was the night they met, tucked up together on that tiny ledge. Before Harry even knew Luca’s name or the intensity of his eyes or the taste of his lips.

But that’s a dangerous path to go down, a rabbit hole Zayn cannot afford to fall into.

“We’re going to go see your uncles today,” Yaser says, drying his hands on a dishcloth. “With Safaa.”

Zayn nods. “I’m ready whenever,” he says.

Yaser glances at Trisha.

“We thought we’d just go, actually, sweetheart.”

Zayn frowns. He opens his mouth and snaps it shut again. Indignation and anger crawls up the back of his throat.

“I can stay here, if that’s the issue,” Harry says quietly from the window. He wraps one arm around his middle, as if trying to make himself as small as possible. “I don’t mind.”

Trisha’s expression brightens. “That would be–”

“No.” Zayn slams his coffee cup down so hard it nearly cracks right down the middle. “If I’m not welcome with Harry by my side, then I’m not going.”

“Zayn, please,” Harry whispers. “It’s fine. You should see your family.”

“Harry’s right, son. You haven’t seen them in a year. They miss you.”

“Clearly not that much,” Zayn replies bitterly. He glances between his parents. “They don’t even know, do they? You haven’t told them.”

When they don’t respond, Zayn stands and turns to leave. Safaa hovers by the door, biting into her lower lip. She catches Zayn’s hand as he passes and squeezes it tight.

“Zayn, please, they don’t mean it,” she whispers.

Zayn shakes his head and goes to his room, letting the door slam shut behind him.

What Harry does in the time until the car is crunching its way down the snow-lined driveway and out onto the road, Zayn doesn’t know. Zayn stays exactly where he is, curled into a ball on his bed with a battered copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ between his hands, reading and re-reading the same page over until he could practically recite it from memory.

_“Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behaviour.”_

Harry knocks on his door sometime around noon. Zayn doesn’t respond but he comes in anyway and sits down on the edge of the bed. Zayn’s back is to him but he can practically feel his gaze, his worry sitting heavy in the air.

“They’re not angry,” Harry says finally. He shifts on the bed. “I think more worried than anything. Said you’ve never snapped like that. They think something’s wrong.”

Zayn huffs and put down his book. “Yeah, something’s wrong. My parents are–”

“Good people, Zayn,” Harry insists gently. “Just like you told me. They’re good people. Don’t stop believing in that.”

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut. “Then why are they so ashamed of me?” He whispers.

Harry leans over and rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder, running a hand over his back. “They’re not. They’re just…” He laughs wetly. “Old-fashioned.”

Zayn smiles wryly. “Bullshit.”

Harry chuckles but doesn’t still his movement, his fingertips tracing the length of Zayn’s spine. “Wanna play Scrabble? Full set and everything.”

“Sure.” Zayn stretches out his legs. “Got to warn you, though, I’m pretty sure we’re missing half of the vowels.” Zayn sits up and turns to face him.

Harry grins. “Challenge accepted.”

 

#

 

It’s sometime around mid-afternoon when the power goes out. Zayn’s sitting alone in the living room, their second Scrabble game on pause, empty mugs and plates stacked up on the floor. He stares at the glinting Christmas decorations on the small tree by the window and tries and fails not to hear Harry’s raised voice from the kitchen.

Luca called about twenty minutes earlier. Zayn’s not sure what about or what he might know but Harry’s voice is strained and he sounds on the verge of tears. Zayn sits and wonders, not for the first time, if this wasn’t the biggest mistake he’s ever made.

And then, the power goes. The lights flicker and fade into nothing and the radiator in the corner of the room falls silent. Zayn looks around the dark room and frowns. Outside, the snow is coming down thick and fast, piling up by the windows. He gets up and tries the light switch a few times, on and off, but nothing happens. He hovers by the door but Harry’s fallen silent. Tentatively, he tries the handle and peeks his head out into the hall.

Harry’s a silhouette by the dining room window, his face lit by his phone screen.

Zayn clears his throat loudly to get his attention. “Did you get cut off?”

Harry raises his head. “Uh, no,” he replies. His voice is thick and heavy and he sounds like he’s been crying. “We’d just hung up when the lights went.” He stuffs his phone into his pocket. “What happened?”

“Not sure,” Zayn replies. “I think there’s candles in the kitchen.” He steps towards Harry, taking a breath. He touches a hand to his cheek, running a thumb through the tear tracks. “You okay?” He murmurs.

Harry lets out a breath and it lands hot against Zayn’s mouth. Zayn’s never noticed it before, really – how Harry’s a little taller than he is. But now, standing there in the dark, his face tilted up towards him, it sends a small shiver down his spine.

“Let’s not talk about it,” Harry murmurs. His eyelashes sweep down across his cheeks and he leans forward, resting his forehead against Zayn’s.

Zayn swallows, wrapping an arm around his waist, his hand splayed against Harry’s lower back. In the darkness and the quiet, nothing but the silence of the snowfall outside the window, the rest of the world falls away. If he kissed Harry now, would it even be real? Would it have really happened at all or would it be a moment trapped in time, to be forgotten when the lights came back on?

“Zayn?” Harry sounds uncertain and scared.

“Harry, I–”

The lights snap back on, stark and bright. Zayn’s phone starts to ring.

Zayn steps back and avoids Harry’s gaze as he answers. He rubs a hand over his mouth. “Hi, Dad.”

_“You boys alright? The power just went out down here.”_

“Same here but we’re fine. Back on now.”

_“Listen, we’re going to stay here tonight. The snow’s getting worse by the minute and, even if the power stays on, the roads won’t be safe.”_

“Yeah, makes sense. We’ll be okay.”

_“Look after yourselves. There’s food in the fridge and spare blankets in the downstairs cupboard.”_

Harry drifts back to the living room as Zayn finishes his call. When he hangs up, he sees the three new messages on his screen.

Luca [16:54] _I’m not mad, Z. At least, not at you. I know what Harry can be like with his crazy ideas._  
Luca [16:57] _That came out wrong. I’m not mad at him about this. Fuck, I’m not even mad at him._  
Luca [17:01] _Call me when you get these?_

Zayn turns his phone off.

 

#

 

It’s a quiet evening between the two of them. If that moment in the dining room did exist, they don’t mention it. Zayn’s not sure that it did – but, then, he’s not sure of anything anymore. They fix up a dinner of leftovers and some rice before curling up on the sofa in front of _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Zayn falls asleep about ten minutes in and when he wakes, Harry is gone.

 _Gone to bed, see you in the morning,_ reads the note on the table.

But morning comes around fast, it seems, when Harry is knocking on his door in the early hours.

“Zayn? Zayn, where’s the boiler?”

Zayn raises his head blearily from the pillows, just making out Harry’s figure in the doorway, wrapped up tight in a blanket. “Cupboard downstairs,” he rasps. “What’s wrong?”

“Going to check it. Heaters have all gone off.”

“Shit,” Zayn mutters and drags himself up. The cold hits him as soon as he steps out of the bed and he hisses. “Fuck, it’s freezing.”

The two of them stare at the controls and the big red warning symbol on the screen.

“Now, I don’t really know much about this stuff, but I think that’s probably a bad sign,” Harry reasons.

Zayn can’t help it, he starts to laugh. He runs his hands over his face and groans. He flips the light switch and the light pierces his eyes. “Electricity’s still on, at least. Any bright ideas?”

“For fixing that? Not one.” Harry bites his lip. “For keeping warm, I’ve got a few.”

“Save the innuendos for when my parents are around.”

Harry snorts and shoves at his shoulder. “You bring the blankets and mattresses down. I’ll start on the fire.”

Zayn’s too tired to protest that building a fire at three o’clock in the morning sounds like a terrible idea, and does as he’s told. By the time he’s constructed a makeshift bed in the middle of the living room floor, Harry’s got a crackling fire roaring in the hearth and is managing to look only mildly smug about it.

“We should be alright down here until morning,” Harry says, shivering as he slips into the bed. “Get in here. We need all the body heat we can get.”

Zayn gets in next to Harry and doesn’t say a word as he curls in close to him. The fire casts a warm glow over the rise of his cheekbones, their shadows spilling across the room. “Luca texted me,” he murmurs.

Harry shushes him, a small frown puckering between his brows. “You promised, Zayn.”

“Sorry.”

Harry is silent for a while. “Did you text back?”

“No. Not yet, anyway.”

Harry hums. “You can. It’s not you he’s mad at.”

“Harry?” Zayn sucks in a breath. “Are you guys okay?”

But Harry doesn’t respond. His breathing starts to even out, hot puffs of air falling over the crook of Zayn’s neck. Zayn sighs and turns into him, wrapping arm around his back. For warmth. For comfort. For reasons he doesn’t want to think about, not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not here.

And if Harry stirs a few hours later and whispers Zayn’s name with a sigh in his sleep, Zayn can pretend not to hear it. He’s good at pretending, after all.

 

###

 

Zayn caves and calls Luca after breakfast. He slips his jacket on, stuffs his feet into his boots and heads out into the front garden. The cold bites at his cheeks and he shivers as he tucks his phone to his ear.

Harry had been quiet all morning, gone from the bed when Zayn woke up, barely even saying a word as he passed him a cup of coffee. If Harry doesn’t want to talk about it, maybe Luca will. If nothing else, maybe hearing Luca’s voice will remind him of all the reasons why nothing can or will ever happen between him and Harry.

But that’s the last thing he gets.

_“We broke up.”_

“What?” Zayn stops still, his breath coming out in frosty clouds. “When?”

_“Two days ago.”_

“Wait, _what?”_ The day they’d arrived. Zayn tries to think back. “But last night…” He winces. “I heard you arguing on the phone.”

_“I called to apologise, to see if maybe I could fix things. And then he told me where he was.”_

Zayn’s silent.

_“I told you, Zed, I don’t blame you. And this has nothing to do with the fact that he’s there with you. He just needed some time away and you were headed out of the city, I get it.”_

So, Harry hasn’t quite told him _everything_ then.

_“Things have been going this way for a long time.”_

“But, you… You want him back?” Zayn looks through the front window. Harry’s knelt in front of the fire, bringing it back to life, a thick woollen blanket draped over his shoulders. He looks up and catches Zayn’s eye and gives him a soft smile.

_“I don’t know if that’s an option. At least, not right now.”_

Zayn tears his gaze away. It’s not a no.

_“Look after him for me, yeah? He needs a friend right now.”_

“Yeah,” Zayn whispers. A friend.

Zayn doesn’t try to lie, to pretend it wasn’t Luca he was on the phone to. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks.

Harry sits by the fire, his body illuminated by the glow. “Does it matter?”

“It _matters,_ Harry.”

“Why?”

Zayn flounders around a response. “Because I’m–” _Because I care about you. Because I’m falling for you._ “Because you’re hurting.”

“Being here helps,” Harry replies simply. He looks up at him. “Being with you helps. More than you know.”

They play Scrabble again because, as it turns out, they’re both the competitive sort. They’ve got a running tally on the go and so far Zayn’s leading by fifty points and Harry’s not happy about it.

 _“Guilty?”_ He reads, incredulous as he adds the points to the sheet. “We’re missing half the vowels and you waste _three_ on a five letter word?” He sighs heavily.

Zayn toys with his pieces and laughs despite the lead weight pressing at the bottom of his stomach.

Harry taps the pencil off the board. “The last three words you’ve played are _conflicted, wrong,_ and _guilty._ ” He looks up and quirks and eyebrow. “Everything alright?”

Zayn swallows. “Fine.” His phone starts to buzz. “Hey, Saf. How are you guys coping?”

_“You mean, aside from bored out of my mind? The wifi’s been down since last night. They’re playing charades. It’s painful to watch, let alone be a part of. Looks like we’re going to be stuck here another night, too.”_

Zayn winces. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

She sighs. _“Would much rather be with you guys. Can I say hi to Harry?”_

Zayn puts her on speaker.

“Hi, love,” Harry coos.

_“Harry! What are you guys doing, then?”_

“We’re playing–”

“Strip Scrabble,” Harry finishes and winks across the table.

_“Gross! I take it back, I’d rather be with the charade-playing lunatics over here.”_

“I adore you but I’m quite glad you’re not here, too.” Harry laughs, a mischievous glint to his eye.

Zayn shakes his head. _That’s my sister,_ he mouths.

Harry bats his eyelashes innocently.

_“Wait, what room are you in?”_

“Living room, why?”

Safaa shrieks. _“That’s so gross, Zayn! I have to sit in that room! Can’t you do it in your own room?”_

“It’s fine, we’ve both still got our boxers on.” Harry hums. “For now, anyway.”

“Right, that’s enough out of you,” Zayn grunts and puts the phone back to his ear. “Can you put Dad on? I need to ask him about the boiler.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Boring,” he mumbles but the smile hasn’t left his lips. It’s the happiest he’s looked all day and Zayn considers that a win.

 

###

 

They open a bottle of wine after dinner that night. The boiler’s still out and the living room is the only place they can stand to be for more than five minutes at a time. Harry shuffles back into the living room from the bathroom with one hand cupped around his crotch and a frown etched into his face.

“I genuinely thought my balls might freeze in the time it took me to pee,” he laments, letting out a sigh of relief as he closes the door to keep the heat in.

The living room itself is almost too warm, the heat sticking to the walls and surrounding them. The wine thrumming through his veins doesn’t help to cool him any, Zayn lying back against the sofa with his legs propped up on the arm. He starts to laugh almost without realising he’s doing it aloud.

Harry throws another log on the fire and plops himself down. “What?” He asks with a chuckle.

“Just thinking,” Zayn muses. “We’ve come right around. This is how it all started. Me, you, a bottle of wine. And now look at us.”

“Love story for the ages,” Harry deadpans and giggles. He tops up their glasses. “Let’s put on some music.”

Zayn hums, closing his eyes and settling his head back into the cushions. The longer they spend in this house, just the two of them, the more it feels as though the outside world doesn’t exist. Distantly, Zayn knows it’s out there. That tomorrow, he and Harry will be on a train back to London. Back to their real lives, their own rooms in their own flats. Back to their friends, and their exes.

But Zayn can’t find it in himself to believe it until it happens. For now, the world doesn’t extend further than the walls of this house. He has all he needs inside of it.

Harry lets out a contented sigh as Fleetwood Mac starts playing. “Your parents have good music taste, I’ll give them that.”

“Yeah, better than this,” he mumbles, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he looks over at Harry.

“You take that back, Zayn Malik.” Harry leaps to his feet and points at him threateningly. “You do not disgrace Fleetwood Mac in my presence.” He starts to dance, if you could even call it that, all hips and arms everywhere.

Zayn groans and puts his hands over his face. “I can’t watch,” he whines.

Harry laughs and bounds over to him, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet. “Up! Dance with me.” He laces their hands together and twists him this way and that.

“Harry,” Zayn laughs. He tries to pull his hands free but Harry holds tight.

 _“Sweet, wonderful you,”_ he croons, a wide grin splitting his face. _“You make me happy with the things you do.”_

Zayn shakes his head but he can’t help the way his expression mirrors Harry’s. Harry tugs him close, looping an arm around his waist, his hand firm where it splays over his hip.

“I can’t dance,” Zayn protests as Harry sways their hips together.

“Sure you can,” Harry murmurs. He looks up at him from under the thick sweep of his eyelashes. His lips are flushed red from the wine and his shirt gapes open at the collar. “Just like this.”

Zayn’s breath hitches. “Just like this?” He echoes. They’re totally out of time with the music, dancing to their own beat as they shimmy together. They must look totally ridiculous but he can’t think about any of that. Not with Harry so close, the soft curve of his neck and the full swell of his lips.

“Yeah,” Harry says but he sounds far away all of a sudden. His hands fall from Zayn and he takes a step back. He looks lost, dazed, his arms hanging at his sides.

“Harry?” Zayn feels cold without him, which is ridiculous when the room is as hot as it is. His arms feel empty and the space between him and Harry seems somehow far more vast than the few steps it is. “Is everything okay?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, sorry.” He cuts the music abruptly and walks out of the room.

 

#

 

Harry doesn’t come back for so long that Zayn nearly goes looking for him, worried that he’s frozen to death somewhere in the cold of the house. But he hears footsteps overhead and leaves him to it although every instinct in him is screaming to go to him, to be with him.

Zayn stacks the fire up as best as he can for the night and climbs into bed sometime before midnight. He doesn’t know when Harry joins him – barely expected him to at all – but it’s dark out still when he wakes to Harry shifting by his side.

“Zayn,” Harry whispers, his breath hot against his ear as he presses up against the length of his back. His ankle is looped around Zayn’s, just like that first morning, his hand locked around Zayn’s elbow.

Zayn wakes slowly, blinking into the dark of the room. The fire is nothing but embers but the heat lingers. Outside, the wind howls, kicking up the old snow. “You okay?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Zayn rolls over to face him and wraps an arm around his waist. “The wind will die down, don’t worry.”

“Not that,” Harry murmurs.

Zayn can just make out the arches of his face in the darkness. “What, then?”

Harry wets his lips and the heat of it sends goosebumps racing over Zayn’s skin. “What if I made a mistake?”

Zayn’s stomach lurches unpleasantly. “What do you mean? Breaking up with Luca?”

“No.” Harry’s response is sharp and firm. “I mean– What if I made a mistake choosing him in the first place?”

Zayn lets out a breath and his hand shakes as he runs his fingers over Harry’s back. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this now.”

Harry hums, uncertain. “Maybe we just shouldn’t talk.” He ducks forward and his mouth falls hot over Zayn’s.

Zayn gasps in surprise, drawing Harry close with a hand to the centre of his back as he licks over the seam of Harry’s lips. It’s everything and too much all at once, Harry’s hands gripping him, pulling him closer. The slick slide of their lips sounds almost obscene in the quiet of the room and it sends Zayn’s heart racing and his hips twitching forward.

Harry’s out of breath when they pull apart, his hand cupping Zayn’s cheek. His thumb sweeps over the rise of Zayn’s cheekbone, their foreheads resting together. “Hold me, Zayn,” he begs in a murmur. “Just hold me.”

“I’ve got you,” Zayn breathes, kissing the top of his cheek and the bridge of his nose before pulling him into his chest.

Harry’s breathing evens out against his collarbone as Zayn slides a hand into his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp. It’s an intimacy Zayn hasn’t felt in a long time – or maybe ever.

 

###

 

Zayn wakes up alone. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to break whatever exists within the space of this bed between him and Harry – even though it’s already broken, already gone with Harry as he slipped away from him sometime in the space of the morning light.

Harry’s in the kitchen, it sounds like, and Zayn can’t bring himself to join him. He sits up and scratches a hand over his chest, gazing out of the windows, thick with condensation. Outside, the snow has finally eased off, patches of the cold ground peeking through.

Safaa [09:54] _On our way back, be there in about an hour x_  
Safaa [09:55] _Make sure you both have clothes on pls_

It’s coming up to eleven o’clock already. Zayn shoves on his jeans and a sweater, bundling up his pyjamas into the pile of blankets gathered on the floor.

Harry taps on the door lightly before walking in. The corner of his mouth quirks into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Morning.”

“G’morning.” Zayn clears his throat and tucks his hands into the sleeves of his sweater. “They’ll be back soon, I think.”

Harry nods and lets out a slow breath. “Right. Of course.”

“Kinda forgot,” Zayn admits with a chuckle. “Like, where we were. You know what I mean?”

Harry tilts his head a bit and a warmth reaches his eyes. “Yeah. Like we were in our own little world for a couple of days there.”

“Something like that.”

Harry takes a breath. “Zayn, I–”

They’re startled out of their moment by the front door swinging open. The glass bubble they’d been encased in, sheltered and secure from the outside world and everyone in it, shatters into a thousand tiny pieces around them. Harry’s face stiffens and then transforms in front of Zayn’s eyes, morphing back into his role. The boyfriend. He’s played it so well. So well that Zayn started to fall for it and for Harry, too, in the process.

“Oh, you’re both alright,” Trisha fusses as she barrels in. She rushes to Zayn, wrapping him tight into her arms and kissing the side of his head fiercely. “We were so worried about you two. Have you kept warm enough? Did you have enough food?”

“We’re fine, Mum, promise,” Zayn assures her, rubbing a hand over her back.

“Good thinking on the fire,” Yaser comments, looking around the living room. “Sleeping down here, too – smart move.”

Zayn glances over at Harry who stands sheepishly by the door clutching the dustpan and brush he’d brought to clean out the fireplace. “Can’t take any credit. It was all Harry – he’s the one with all the survival skills.”

Yaser grins and claps a hand around Harry’s shoulder. He holds it there for a moment too long and swallows. “He’s a keeper,” he says.

Zayn blinks. “Yeah,” he replies quietly.

Yaser meets his gaze and offers a small smile. It’s an apology, Zayn thinks. Or maybe a promise to do better. But it’s certainly something. And something is a whole lot further along than they’d been two days ago.

Yaser clears his throat. “I’ll take care of that, don’t worry,” he says taking the dustpan from Harry. “You boys need to get going soon. The trains seem to be back up to normal – best get back before the next snow hits.”

“I’ll fix you something to eat before you leave,” Trisha says.

“I should go pack,” Harry murmurs, tugging at his lower lip. He excuses himself from the room and pads up the stairs.

Zayn hears him greet Safaa upstairs, their voices too low to make out more than the rumble of Harry’s deeper register and Safaa’s light laugh. He hovers in the living room and wonders if it will ever feel the same without Harry in it.

“Zayn, sweetheart? Could you come here for a moment?”

Zayn joins his mum in the dining room where she stands by the window. He rubs a hand over her shoulders. “You must be knackered. Why don’t you go have a hot shower and a rest, yeah? Me and Harry can get some food at the station.”

Trisha shakes her head and looks at him, taking his hand in hers and clasping it tightly.

“Mum,” Zayn murmurs with a frown. “What are you crying for? Everything’s okay. We’re all okay.”

“Not that, love,” Trisha says wetly and lets out a breath. “Just listen to me for a moment, alright?”

Zayn nods wordlessly.

“As a parent, you never want life to be difficult for your children. You’d do anything for it not to be, even though you know it’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. And growing up, Zayn… I saw how difficult things could be. You thought I didn’t know, tried to hide it from me, how kids would tease you about who you were or what you liked.”

Zayn casts his gaze down, lacing his fingers through hers.

“And when you told us, that Christmas, that–” She pauses and waits until he meets her gaze again. “That you’re gay.”

It’s the first time she’s said it aloud, Zayn knows. Just like he knows that he’s going to start crying any moment, too, at this rate.

“When you told us, all I could think was how things would only be more difficult for you and I hated that. I hated that there was nothing I could do to stop it. And the only thing that gets us through our difficult times is having people around us that love and care for us.

“And it’s all I could think about, over the past couple of days. About the two of you here, alone, trapped in this house. And I was so worried – about _both_ of you – but I was also sure you’d be alright, because you weren’t alone. You had one another.”

Trisha’s smile softens and she touches a hand to Zayn’s cheek. “You always have one another, you and Harry. And the fact that he’s a boy doesn’t make that any less special or important.”

Zayn sniffles, tears breaking and spilling over his cheeks.

“I see the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you, with so much love. That boy loves you, Zayn. So much.”

“I think I love him too, Mum,” Zayn whispers and sags forward, tucking his face into her neck and clinging to her tight. “I think I really do.”

Trisha shushes him, running her fingers through his hair like she used to do when he was little and he had a bad dream. “Don’t cry, love. That’s a great thing. That’s a _wonderful_ thing.”

 _But it’s not._ Zayn squeezes his eyes shut and sobs into her shoulder. _Because he’s not mine to love._

“I love you, Zayn. And I’m so proud of you. We both are.” Trisha tucks a finger under his chin and lifts his gaze to her. “And we’re going to make sure you know that from now on.” Her gaze flits past him and her smile widens. “Get in here, you.”

Harry laughs lightly and walks over to them. His arm is warm around Zayn’s waist, his other arm around Trisha’s shoulders. “I’m only going to start crying, too,” Harry warns, his breath tickling against Zayn’s ear.

Zayn breathes out and as Trisha slips away, Harry’s there to tuck him close to his body, to hold him upright. “How long were you standing there?” Zayn asks quietly.

“Not long,” Harry murmurs. “Just long enough to hear her say she was proud of you.”

Zayn wraps his arms fully around Harry and just holds him. He can’t bear to look at him right now, can’t bear to face the truth he’s only just admitting to himself. Because Harry might feel something for him, enough for him to kiss him last night, but whatever he feels is clouded under the three years he’s spent dating and being in love with someone else. With Zayn’s best friend. Who Zayn lives with.

“We should get going,” Harry reminds him gently, rubbing a hand over his shoulders as he steps back.

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and looks up at Harry.

Harry drops his gaze and turns to move away.

“Harry.” Zayn catches his arm. He hesitates. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for everything.” It’s not what he wants to say. But it’s enough. It’s enough for now.

 

#

 

The train hurtles south, every mile another closer to their realities. To a world where Zayn and Harry go their separate ways. Back to their own flats, their own friends, their own lives. A world where Zayn and Harry don’t see each other, not when the only link between them has been broken.

But, then, there was no world in which their paths could run parallel. The only link that kept them together is also the only link that could keep them apart.

Harry touches a hand to Zayn’s knee, his gaze fixed on the window as the world rushes by. “What happens now?” It’s so quiet Zayn almost misses it, distracted by the curve of Harry’s fingers over his kneecap, the press of his rings against the denim.

“I don’t know,” Zayn replies honestly. “I don’t know, Harry.”

 

###

 

Zayn didn’t expect Luca to be home. He’s not sure where he thought he’d be but stretched out on the sofa with a book propped on his stomach was not it. Zayn drops his bag with a thump and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

Luca’s head appears over the top of his book. “You’re home!”

Zayn blinks as all six feet of Luca barrel towards him and knock him into a hug. He doesn’t seem like a guy who just broke up with his long-term boyfriend and Zayn’s bewildered by it. He hugs him back and tries not to feel like the worst friend in the world.

Tries, and fails.

“You alright, then?” Zayn asks, looking up at him with a frown. “Thought maybe you’d be a bit…” He trails off and gestures vaguely.

Luca runs a hand through his hair. “I was,” he admits. “Pretty much just cocooned myself on the sofa yesterday and ate my weight in takeout.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. And he thought _he_ had a good tolerance for break-ups.

Luca runs a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. “Listen, Harry’s coming over in a bit.”

Zayn’s heart stutters. “What?”

“Not sure why. I think maybe he wants to get back together.”

Zayn’s starting to feel light-headed. He needs some fresh air, or maybe a cigarette, even though he hasn’t smoked in over a year. “Oh.” He forces a smile onto his face. “That’s great, Luca. I’m happy for you.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

Zayn shakes his head. At least that’s not a lie. “He didn’t want to talk about it, really.” He wraps his arms around himself. “Listen, maybe I’ll pop out, then. Give you guys some time to… Talk. Or whatever.” He makes it sound as though it’s for Luca but there’s nothing selfless in his offer. He can’t listen to Harry murmur sweet words to Luca, to apologise for the fights or the rash decisions. Let alone anything else, the sound of their lips reconnecting, their bodies falling back into each other.

“You just got home, though.” Luca squeezes Zayn’s shoulder. “Go have a rest. We’ll keep it down, promise.” He flashes him a cheeky grin.

Zayn feels the world spin around him. He nods, grabs his bag, and heads towards his room. His hands are shaking as he rummages around to find his headphones, stuffing them into his phone and putting on the loudest music he can find, the bass pulsing at his temples. He doesn’t know what feels worse: that Harry might not care at all, that Zayn was just there when he needed him most, or the guilt of his best friend standing out there, not knowing what Zayn has done.

Zayn jams his head under a pillow and falls asleep without meaning to. He surprises even himself that he manages to, between the music and the discomfort itching at his skin over everything that hangs over the three of them. When he wakes, the album’s long since ended, and the flat is quiet.

He tentatively slips out of his door and finds Luca in the kitchen. A faded grocery bag sits on the table, toothbrushes and boxers falling out of it. Luca toys with an empty glass, a half-empty whiskey bottle in front of him.

“How did it go?” Zayn asks. It’s a futile question – the answer is strewn across the kitchen counter.

Luca lifts his head. “He, uh. Just wanted to drop off some stuff. Wanted it to be as quick and painless as possible.”

“Right.” Zayn hovers, uncertain. “Luca, there’s something I have to tell you.” He couldn’t keep it in if he tried, couldn’t live under the same roof as him and lie to his face for another second. Not when it’s eating him alive, crawling up his skin and down his throat.

Luca shakes his head. “I already know.”

“What?” Zayn breathes.

Luca gestures him over. Zayn doesn’t move. “Zed, c’mon. Sit with me, okay?”

Zayn slips into the seat next to him, the tension visible in his shoulders.

“He told me. All of it. About pretending to your parents. About the kiss.” Luca pours himself another drink. “I’m not angry.”

“You’re not?” Zayn frowns. “But–”

Luca shrugs. “What’s the point? We were broken up. Things happen. I know that neither of you would intentionally do that just to hurt me. Which means it must have happened because there’s something there.”

Zayn envies Luca’s ability to be so rational when he’s hurting. He’s always been more mature than he appears at first glance.

“It’s weird,” Luca adds and laughs, taking a sip of his drink. “It’s really fucking weird. And I’m not quite ready to see you guys together or anything like that.”

“No, I mean we’re not– We haven’t really–” Zayn sighs. “Things happen. That doesn’t mean this is going anywhere.”

Luca studies him. “But you like him, right?”

There’s no sense in lying or trying to pretending like it’s not the truth. “Yeah. I like him.” He hesitates. “I think maybe I always have, a bit.”

“I think I might have always known, a bit,” Luca admits. “You should go talk to him.”

“Luca.” Zayn frowns. “Even if– You guys _just_ broke up. You were together a long time.”

“I’m not saying woo the guy. I’m just saying you should talk. Harry’s big on communication.”

Zayn makes a noise. “Okay, that is weird. I don’t think I’m ready for you to give me advice on him.”

Luca starts to laugh, his shoulders heaving. He wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and pulls him into his chest. “Love you forever, never forget.”

Zayn grins and closes his eyes. “Never ever, mate.”

 

* * *

 

 

**One year later**

Zayn stares at the novelty Christmas jumper, plucking at the sleeve.

_Tickle my baubles._

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as he moves on. It’s probably not Christmas-with-the-family appropriate, no matter how hard his parents are trying. He feels it in the air, with the coming of the season, with the first flakes of snow that fell earlier in the week. Something about this time of the year reminds Zayn of him, so he shouldn’t be all that surprised when Harry falls into his line of vision.

He’s got a pair of green and red striped socks in one hand and a scented candle in the other. His hair’s grown a little longer, curling around his ears, but otherwise he looks the same. Like he could have stepped straight out of the page from their last conversation, almost a year ago. Zayn hovering in Harry’s doorway, Harry not quite letting him in but not quite asking him to leave either.

_“I just needed you to know,” Zayn said, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself. “How I feel.”_

_Harry’s smile was sad. “I’m glad you told me. I wish I could say the same.”_

_Zayn shouldn’t have come. Maybe not knowing would have hurt less._

_“But I was with Luca for three years, Zayn. I need some time. To figure things out by myself. I can’t think about anyone else like that right now. Not yet. No matter how much I might want to.” Harry took a breath. “You understand, don’t you?”_

Of course, Zayn said he understood. Because he did and he respected Harry for it. Still does, to this day, standing before him again. Because the last thing Zayn ever would have wanted to become is the rebound.

“Did you ever find that jumper again?”

Harry blinks, a bemused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What jumper’s that?”

“Your Christmas one.” Zayn points behind him. “Because, if not, I’ve found a replacement. Admittedly, I didn’t see the last one but this one has fluffy pom-poms so…”

Harry laughs and the sound warms Zayn’s chest. “So, infinitely better already.” He takes a step closer. “Last I heard, mine ended up being used as a dishcloth substitute when Sally from down the road spilt Bailey’s on the floor.”

Zayn scrunches up his nose. “Wouldn’t really be wanting that back, then.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not particularly.” He grins nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “How are you? You look great.” He blushes a little and ducks his gaze.

“I’m good. I’m really good.” Zayn wets his lips and tries to bite back the grin that threatens to engulf his features. “So do you. More than. Amazing, really.” He huffs out a laugh. “God, that’s– I’m rambling. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “Wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while.” Harry pauses. “Do you still live with Luca?”

Zayn nods. “Yeah, I do. He just started seeing someone, actually. Haven’t met him yet but I’ve heard good things.”

“Doesn’t want to risk him falling in love with you?” Harry teases.

Zayn laughs and rubs a hand over his face. “God, don’t. He’s been pestering me about you. Saying I should call.”

Harry hums. “Why didn’t you?”

“Wanted to give you space.” Zayn shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I thought when you were ready, maybe you’d reach out.”

“I wanted to,” Harry admits quietly. “But I wasn’t sure you’d still be interested.”

“I am,” Zayn says in a rush, colour creeping up his cheeks. “I mean, I’d be interested. In taking you out, maybe, if that’s something that you–”

Harry steps forward and presses his lips to Zayn’s in a soft, sweet kiss. The tip of his nose nudges against Zayn’s and his hand loops around Zayn’s wrist where it hangs at his side. “Yes,” he breathes. “Absolutely. Very much interested.”

Zayn blinks, the world a little hazy as he slides his hand into Harry’s. “Very much interested,” he echoes. “Well. What are you doing right now?”

Harry laughs and wets his lips. “Paying for these socks,” he says. “And then, having a drink with you?”

Zayn kisses him again, because he can. “You go pay for your socks. I’ve got one thing to pick up.”

Harry squeezes his hand and nods. Once his back is turned, Zayn turns and digs out one of the Christmas jumpers in Harry’s size. He bops one of the pom-poms and grins.

 

* * *

 

 

**Three years later**

“A little to the left.”

Zayn grunts and jams the pin into the beam. “It’s going here.”

“But it’s off-centre!”

Zayn sighs and climbs down from the rickety ladder. “My arms are tired. No one will notice.” He wipes his hands off on his jeans and looks over at Harry. His jaw drops, aghast. “Harry! You can’t wear that – my parents are coming!”

Harry blinks innocently. “What’s wrong with it?” He flicks one of the pom-poms on his jumper. “It’s a classic. It wouldn’t be Christmas without it.”

Zayn groans. “Can’t you save it for, I don’t know, _any_ other night?”

“Nope.” Harry grins, walking over to him. He rests his hands on Zayn’s shoulders. “Your sisters will love it. So will everyone else.” He hums. “Except for possibly your parents,” he admits. He glances up at the off-centre mistletoe and sighs. “It’s about an inch off.”

Zayn huffs and tucks his face into Harry’s neck. “Never heard you complain about my inches before,” he grumbles and nips at the soft juncture between Harry’s neck and shoulder.

Harry chuckles and slides his hands down to rest at the small of Zayn’s back. “Zayn, honestly. Talking like that when your parents will be here any minute.”

“Hush,” Zayn murmurs. He tips his face to meet Harry’s, kissing him languidly. He slides his hand through Harry’s curls, rubbing his thumb over the shell of his ear.

“That’s playing dirty,” Harry breathes, his eyelashes fluttering as he leans into Zayn’s chest.

“Never heard you complain about _that_ , either.” Zayn grins and kisses him again.

The doorbell rings, echoing through the high ceilings of their house. _Their_ house, officially, as of a few months ago. Harry’s been excited to show off his decorating efforts for weeks.

“That’ll be Luca and Jack. They said they’d come early.”

“Oh.” Zayn pauses and looks at Harry. “By the way. Small thing.”

Harry arches an eyebrow. “What?”

“Thing is, my parents haven’t seen Luca in years.”

“How many years, exactly?”

“Well… At least five.”

“They still don’t know? That we weren’t actually together?”

Zayn smiles sheepishly. “Didn’t come up.”

Harry laughs incredulously. The doorbell rings again, followed by three sharp knocks.

“Get your clothes back on and let us in! It’s freezing out here!”

Zayn snorts.

“Right. I’ll take Trisha. You handle Luca. We can make this work.” Harry seals it with a kiss.

They go together to open the door, hands laced between them. Except Luca and Jake have already been joined by more guests huddled on the doorstep – Trisha and Yaser among them.

“Zayn, Harry.” Luca grins, as they file into the house. “I’ve just been having a lovely conversation with your mum.”

Zayn and Harry exchange a look.

Harry claps his hands together. “Who wants some wine?”

**Author's Note:**

> Re: the approach I took with the relationship between Zayn and his parents.
> 
> Zayn's parents' homophobia/initial attitude towards his coming out and being gay was integral to the prompt so I didn't want to completely ignore that but equally I didn't necessarily want for it to just be a flat-out awful relationship and dynamic between them. Fften stories can depict parents/family as either being totally and utterly cool with it or being really awful about it and – at least in my experience and those of friends also on the LGBT+ spectrum – it's quite a common experience to have family members who just won't talk about it or won't acknowledge it, regardless of how much they love them or how close they are with them. So, I guess that's sort of the dynamic I wanted to go for, and for there to be some kind of steps towards resolution or, at least progress, through Harry having gone to visit them with Zayn. Hopefully that makes sense, that it felt true to the story, and that for the prompter, it was close enough to what you'd imagined for this fic.


End file.
